For officials in Brussels, the demise of the European constitution is an unmitigated disaster. For British Europhiles it is the exact opposite. One year after the French and Dutch killed the constitutional treaty with their "no" votes, the EU's approval rating in Britain is at last on the rise—with one poll more positive than at any time in the last 14 years. Asked in the regular Eurobarometer survey whether membership of the EU was a good thing, 42 per cent of Britons agreed that it was, a jump of 8 points on the last poll. On the benefits of EU membership, the findings increased by 5 percentage points, again to 42 per cent, the highest figure since 1992. The poll movement is sharper than the positive trend across the continent, and is a feather in the cap of Reijo Kemppinen, the first non-Brit to head the European commission office in London. The large, no-nonsense Finn has been promoting the commission as a free-market friend of the consumer. That has started to work because the commission under José Manuel Barroso has put most integrationist ambitions to one side and concentrated on liberal economics and structural reform. This chimes with the pragmatic agenda outlined by the British presidency of the EU last year. Most important, the demise of the constitution removed the EU from the British political radar screen and therefore from the front pages of the Eurosceptic press. No news has been very good news for Europhiles. The sceptics can no longer take for granted Britain's automatic position at the bottom of the table of EU-lovers. The least positive now are the Finns (39 per cent), the Latvians (37 per cent) and the Austrians (34 per cent).
Feminists, fatties and francophones
Fearful of stories about splits, commission president José Manuel Barroso has banned all but the most senior of his press team from the weekly meetings of the 25-strong "college" of commissioners. Nonetheless, Manneken Pis still has his spies, one of whom reports that the German vice-president, Günter Verheugen, and his British colleague, Peter Mandelson, vie for the ranking of most vocal commissioner. Neelie Kroes, the competition commissioner, has a habit of intervening on any subject relating to women's rights (a committed feminist, Kroes caused a row last year by endorsing Angela Merkel's bid for the German chancellorship because she is female). Louis Michel, the rotund Belgian development commissioner, chimes in frequently but spends most of the commission meetings on his mobile phone. Ireland's Charlie McCreevy (internal market) also contributes a great deal, and to the bafflement of his colleagues; McCreevy's accent and use of colloquialisms makes his English almost impossible for non-anglophones to understand. For the emphatically francophone Jacques Barrot (transport), even standard English is incomprehensible, forcing him to rely on simultaneous interpretation. Unfortunately, he hasn't mastered the volume control on his headphones and has a habit of shouting his contributions. Recently he startled colleagues with one brief, but jarringly loud, intervention in support of the "ootermost regions." It wasn't immediately clear which language Barrot thought he was using, but puzzled colleagues eventually worked out that he meant Europe's peripheral, or outermost regions.
Would Mandy talk to Balls?
Not long ago, Peter Mandelson made it known that, 18 months into his job as trade commissioner, there remained one senior figure on the global economic stage with whom he had had no contact. He was referring, of course, to his arch-enemy Gordon Brown. So does this wall of silence extend to Brown's key allies? The acid test was a visit to Brussels by Ed Balls, arguably the chancellor's closest political confidant and now a treasury minister. Balls held meetings with three commissioners: Kroes, McCreevy and Estonia's Siim Kallas, who is responsible for administration. As for Mandelson, it just so happened that he was out of town, thereby postponing the moment of truth until the autumn.
Javier grabs his chance
When Europe began trying to persuade Iran to curtail its nuclear ambitions, the EU's foreign policy supremo, Javier Solana, was cut out of the action. Indeed he had to watch from afar as the foreign ministers of Germany, France, and Britain flew to Tehran. Almost three years on, the gang of three that launched the talks is no more. After Germany's Joschka Fischer and France's Michel Barnier lost their jobs, Jack Straw was the lone survivor—until he was banished in a recent cabinet reshuffle. This has given Solana a chance to put himself centre stage. Disappointed by the failure of the European constitution, which would have made him Europe's first foreign minister, the indefatigable Spaniard has grabbed this poisoned chalice. When the Iranian negotiator, Ali Larijani, visited Europe to discuss the package of incentives offered to persuade Tehran to behave, it was Solana whom he visited. But judging by the brevity of the statements and glum faces after the meeting, progress was minimal. So there are dangers as well as opportunities for Solana. As one senior official put it: "Solana has been useful for the Iranians because they have one person to deal with. And it's good for Solana too, but it also leaves him rather exposed. If it all fails, he will get the blame."
